


all these moments have their places

by kaminagi



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaminagi/pseuds/kaminagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it's the little stories of random moments that say the most about their lives.  A series of ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. big spoon/little spoon

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired mostly by [still-worth-a-shot](http://still-worth-a-shot.tumblr.com/post/85534453360/head-canons-arthur-ariadne-edition)'s week 2 head canon meme. 
> 
> ~~Because describing things seems harder than turning them into fic, for some reason.~~

_"who is the big spoon/little spoon"_

 

Arthur's surprised, but pleased when he returns to his apartment after a very long job. There had been a lot of mishaps (no disasters, thankfully), so he hadn't noticed certain things that he would have normally noticed, like how objects had been displaced or that the shower had been used recently.

He sits on the opposite side of the bed, since his side is currently occupied, and a wry smile works its way onto his face.

"What are you doing?" he whispers, gently shaking Ariadne's sleeping form.

"Keeping your bed warm," she says drowsily, turning over so she can look him in the eye.

A smile graces her tired face. She's beautiful, he thinks. She's always beautiful.

"Oh, come here..." she says sleepily and somehow sits up enough to pull him into her arms. "You're gonna waste all my hard work."

Arthur just sighs. "This must be very amusing to you."

"Only a little," she yawns, blinking slowly at him. "You usually notice. You must be tired."

He only manages to remove his coat and shoes before she drags him down and under the sheets before falling asleep again. When he turns over to embrace her, she rolls over as well, murmuring some happy sounding thought about flying tea cups and upside down scaffolding. He bites back a chuckle, wondering what sort of dreams she's having. He'll have to ask her in the morning, maybe she'll be willing to show him with the PASIV.

He has to struggle to remove his vest and tie and drop them on the floor. As he pulls his shirt from his pants, he knows they'll all be wrinkled in the morning, but it's okay. Arthur wraps his arms around her waist from behind her, smoothing his hand gently over her stomach. Ariadne's barely awake, but she shifts back into his lap just as he pulls her closer, and they fit together perfectly. 

It's funny when it's the other way around, he thinks with some amusement. There are nights when he's exhausted and just flops onto the bed. He's barely aware of the pleasant sensation of Ariadne burying her head against the back of his shoulders or his neck, throwing her leg around his waist, and wrapping her arms around him. She's small, but radiates a comforting warmth, so he never minds.

But at the moment, Arthur feels warm and content as he begins to fall asleep.

"I missed you," she mumbles, and he has to stifle a laugh when she adds, "Did you bring back any wooden spoons?"


	2. eager to share that one activity (1/2)

_What’s the one thing/place/event/activity they are eager to share with the other?_ (1/2)

 

Arthur knows she's going to have a terrible day and he can't do anything do change that. It makes him unhappy, but he's good at solving problems and he's waiting for her to get home soon. He hasn't seen her in a month and had only gotten back yesterday, with a promise to take her out for evening. He had only an inkling that her day would be far more hectic than she anticipated.

Sure enough, around three o'clock, a thoroughly miserable Ariadne enters the apartment.

"I'm going to sleep," she grumbles. "Don't wake me up until next year."

She's dripping wet (forgot her umbrella, didn't think rain would just pour an hour after she left the apartment) as she dumps two sodden cardboard tubes onto the sofa. And then there was, as she describes it, the examination/presentation from hell because she's sure that at least two of the examiners think she's an idiot, and she's lost her lucky socks and her favourite cafe closed down the week before.

"Take a bath," he instructs, guiding her to the bathroom. He runs the hot water while she strips, dropping her sopping clothes onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, as she settles into the water, holding a hand over her tired eyes. "I know you wanted to go out for dinner and-"

He kisses her forehead. "Relax," Arthur tells her. "It's fine."

 

Ariadne soaks in the bath until it feels cold and her fingers are all pruny. She's not too surprised to see that Arthur has set out some towels so she can dry off and clean clothes for her to wear. Not pyjamas though, as she pulls on the t-shirt and jeans, and ties the scarf around her neck.

When she leaves the bathroom, there's an aroma of warm food - something Italian, she thinks delightedly. When Ariadne pokes her head around into the kitchen area, she finds Arthur setting out plates of lasagna, with French bread, tossed green salad, and raspberry mousse.

"You did all this?" she whispers, sitting down at the table when Arthur holds a chair out for her. "How did you do it when I was in the bath?"

"I really wanted to take you out for dinner, but I had a feeling you were going to have a bad day, so I prepared an alternative," he says with a faint smile as he hands her a glass of red wine.

"This makes me feel a lot better." Ariadne beams at him. 

The food is delicious. But she's surprised that when they're done eating, Arthur is taking her hand and leading her into the small space of the messy kitchen.

"What are you...?"

He takes her right hand into his left and guides her left one onto his shoulder before sliding his own right hand around her back and settling on her waist. Arthur pulls her close and looks down at her affectionately. Ariadne can't help but blush and stare at him with wide eyes and a confused half-smile at him.

"Hmm... a bit cramped here, but I like a challenge," he says. "And when I said I wanted to take you out for dinner earlier, I should have added that dancing was included."

It's not a fancy night out, but Ariadne thinks this is better, slow dancing in their kitchen. She must have voiced that out loud, because Arthur chuckles. He leans in, so she can feel his lips against her ear.

"It didn't have to be in an expensive restaurant. We could do this in a train station, for all I care," he breathes, "I just wanted to dance with you like this, no matter what. Especially tonight."

Ariadne leans her head against his chest. "We should do this more often, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little scene in the kitchen was inspired by [this lovely illustration](http://nami64.deviantart.com/art/A-x-A-194740903?hf=1) by [nami86](http://nami64.deviantart.com/). Please go admire it.


	3. the initiating event

_Who started the relationship?_

 

In hindsight, they agree it probably started when Ariadne stole a kiss from him at LAX, just right outside out the baggage claim. She kissed him so hard that all Arthur wanted after that was to follow her back to Paris and do nothing but kiss her and worship her for the rest of his life.

The thought of that was almost too ridiculous for him, too irrational, so he was just left stunned and lovestruck when she pulled away. Wait, _lovestruck_? Arthur's mind was reeling.

"Now," she said a little breathlessly, "now, we're even."

(So maybe it was Arthur who started it, because he was the one who asked for that first kiss, even if it was in a dream, and clearly she counted it. This kiss was something else entirely - it was real and it made him want to kiss her again, because it was different and he wanted to familiarize himself with her taste.)

In any case, he could feel her hands slipping away from his face as she pulled away, looking a bit flushed and awkward. Whatever gave her the confidence to kiss him like that was beginning to ebb away; maybe if Arthur stopped just staring at her like an idiot, she would look less uncertain about it. She looked almost ready to escape.

He could have let her slip away, then.

Let her slip away and regret it, reasoning with himself that it would be best for her, that they didn't need to see each other again. She shouldn't be living a life where he's involved, where she could be hurt. Because of him. _By him_. 

But the impulsive side reminded him that sometimes letting go of someone amazing is the worst sort of regret to have. How many times in his life had he let that happen? He doesn't know, but suddenly he can feel that fear inside him, more than any other apprehension he has at the thought of being with her.

His heartstrings pulled him toward her, and he grabbed her wrist. Ariadne turned, surprised that Arthur was still by her side. 

He didn't _do_ this sort of thing. Relationships. There was still time for him to get away, but when he looked right into her amber eyes, he suddenly knew exactly what this was.

She made a muffled gasp when his mouth closed over hers again. It took her a moment, but she was kissing him back with as much, perhaps more so, feeling as before.

This was what he wanted. _Her_.

"Let's keep doing this," Arthur said, when he pulled away.

She blinked at him, but as his hands slid around her waist, she smiled and nodded.

 

They haven't been apart since.

 _Non, je ne regrette rien_ , Arthur thinks.


	4. got milk? perhaps not

_"who remembers to buy the milk"_

 

"You forgot again," Ariadne comments, as she looks in the fridge.

Arthur does the grocery shopping. If they left it up to Ariadne, she would probably just buy a lot of ramen because it's cheap and it keeps her stomach from eating itself. And she'll buy vegetables (broccoli, because it is green and she could never figure out why nobody seems to like it because she and Arthur seem to think it tastes okay, and carrots, and maybe snow peas) and a bag of apples (or pears, peaches when they're in season) and perhaps a block of cheese that takes forever to disappear. And she buys milk, the fresher the better. There's an old excuse about drinking to get taller, but given her height is stuck where it is, she decides she just likes it. Goes well with her cereal, after all.

"I'm not sure how you survived on such a limited diet," Arthur had said with great disapproval in his voice and she had gestured at herself, with a comment of about how she was tiny and she didn't need an exotic diet with quinoa and pomegranates and açai berries. Either way, he had taken it upon himself to regularly stock her kitchen with a variety of food from every food group (even junk food, just to appease her). 

But for some reason, milk is the one thing that Arthur never remembers to buy whenever they're almost out. It doesn't matter - he's got a lot on his mind and milk isn't typically what saves a job. On the other hand, he does most of the shopping and yet he always winds up apologizing for forgetting only that, in spite of everything from sticky notes to phone calls when he's at the grocery store to remind him.

She thinks it's hilarious. He never forgets _anything_. For all Arthur's attention to detail and frighteningly accurate ability to recall almost everything, it's remembering milk on the long list of groceries that consistently seems to elude him.

"I could buy the milk, since you already buy everything else - it's not a big deal," she offers, but that seems to annoy Arthur (mostly because he can't seem to fathom why he almost always forgets) and he deems it as inefficient for her to be solely responsible for buying it when he shops for all the other groceries (never mind that he wastes time going back to get it) so he turns her down.

Arthur curses at himself, grabs his coat, and heads out the door to obtain the forgotten item. Ariadne calls him twenty minutes later just to check, much to his irritation, because he never forgets if it's the only thing he has to buy.


	5. rainy days in paris

_"what is their favorite non-sexual activity"_

 

It's pouring rain, but it's fine. Ariadne pulls on a pair of red wellingtons she bought in England, slips on her raincoat and stands impatiently at the door with an umbrella as Arthur laces his boots far too slowly.

"Are those waterproof?" she asks.

"They cost... around $600? So they better be."

She gapes. Sure, it's a paltry amount after what she's earned from inception. And Arthur's done way more jobs, so $600 starts to look like pennies. But _seriously_.

"You're kidding. That's like... the cost of three of my second year textbooks."

He buttons up his coat and lifts her chin to close her mouth.

"Not kidding. And they are waterproof, that's why I got them, amongst other reasons."

Arthur plucks the brightly-coloured umbrella out of her hand and tucks her hand under his arm. "Shall we?"

They do this in every city they're in, like New York, early in the morning, as the lights in the city are winking out. Over as many bridges as possible one time in Copenhagen. Just long meandering walks without any sort of purpose except to keep each other company, to talk and move arm and arm - in that there's a familiarity to it that makes it better than dull or mundane.

It feels especially nice that it is Paris - the City of Light, in heavy rain, is easily their favourite time for walks together.

They agree that Paris is at its most beautiful in the rain. Walking through the Parisian streets is different like this, compared sunshine or snow. There's a sort of smokiness in the streets, the air feels cleaner, and she likes how the water streams down and the way the light reflects off the cobblestones.

And she likes how close together she and Arthur have to be when the walk along, in order to share an umbrella. This why she loves going on long walks with him, no matter where they are. Ariadne remembers how he once sheepishly admitted that he stopped bringing his own umbrella along just so they would have to share. She had been more than happy to indulge him. And she still does.

Today, they walk past the Pont de Bir-Hakeim (he knows why, there's no need to say why) until they reach the square by the Eiffel Tower. The rain is still coming down, but the sky is bright from sunlight through the clouds. She's feeling hungry and she shivers, but not from the cold. Arthur glances at her thoughtfully.

"Shall we go back?" he asks, freeing her hand so he can face her.

"I want a sandwich. And café au lait."

He laughs and kisses her forehead.


	6. eager to share that one activity (2/2)

_What’s the one thing/place/event/activity they are eager to share with the other?_ (2/2)

 

He loves travelling with her. Ariadne hasn't seen as many places in the world as he has, but she has a way of making even the places most familiar to herself seem fresh and different. She loves to find the twists and turns in every city, all the sorts of places that seem like secret passages that nobody else would have noticed. Arthur can't handle boredom, but with her, there's no worry of that. He has a feeling it never will be - familiarity and stability don't seem so bad, as long as he's with her.

Arthur has found that Italy suits Ariadne very well. Rome makes her flirtatious, unconventionally seductive in a way that one wouldn't imagine from just looking at her, and she always insists on having gelato for dessert. Venice makes her unexpectedly romantic, even when her shoes are soggy, and she admits she hates the smell of the canals, even if she loves the bronze horses overlooking Piazza San Marco. 

"You didn't know about this?"

She sounds completely incredulous. Arthur just shrugs. Instead of being disappointed with the news, it seems to make her extremely eager. She seizes his hand and starts dragging him down the street.

"I know a great game!" she says excitedly. "Let's go!"

They're in Florence and he knows it's her second time here. She loved the Duomo the instant she saw it during a four month field school semester in her undergraduate years and any doubts she had about becoming an architect had dissipated in that moment.

"It's an architectural marvel," she had said, defending it needlessly.

"A very impressive feat of engineering," he had responded, sincerely. 

Arthur honestly doesn't mind walking down the streets with her. It's a good day, with a clear sky. But he's not entirely sure he likes being so... conspicuous, given her enthusiasm.

"Ariadne," he says a bit plaintively. "I'm not sure-"

"C'mon," she pleads. "If you do this with me now, I promise we can have kinky sex later. Please, please, please?"

His eyebrows rise. "Not that I'm against it, but you don't need to make it kinky, you know."

She rolls her eyes to hide the blushing, but it doesn't make her any less determined. "We have to go, now!"

Travelling with an architect, as Arthur learns, means that he's subjected to a lot of random architecture fun facts. He doesn't mind at all, since most of them are actually fairly interesting tidbits he hadn't known before. It makes Ariadne absurdly happy that he genuinely wants to know, since most of her friends found them tedious and annoying and eventually she stopped telling people.

Ariadne starts pointing excitedly at a building.

"There's one!"

And then she grabs his arm as they walk along. "And that one too! Oh, and the one next to it, I'm sure, look at the difference between the middle and top sections."

She loves this game.

Every so often, she points to another building. They're looking for structures that used to be towers, buildings where at some point the taller portions were removed. When her professor at the time had introduced the fact, she turned it into a game that her friends and classmates had tired of very quickly (mostly because Ariadne had been insanely good at it) such that her professor (somewhat politely, with amusement) became the only person willing to entertain her desire to point out all the former towers in her sight.

"Hey, you should be good at this," she chides. "I've already given you enough information to find them on your own."

Her eyes are so bright that Arthur just has to bend down and kiss her thoroughly. "Mmm... I hadn't realized that you wanted competition."

Ariadne wins the game by the end of the walk (crushes him, actually), but he doesn't mind at all. She's so happy with how she can share the game with him that he's looking forward to their next walk so they can play again.


	7. ordering take-out

_"what they order from take out"_

 

"That's interesting."

She stares hopelessly at the casserole.

Ariadne is actually a good cook. She follows instructions and recipes and it tastes _decent_. There are cookbooks in the kitchen and bookmarks for recipes she's found online and a binder of newspaper clippings proving that she loves cooking. Her friends may tease her about all the instant ramen she eats ("It's for _convenience_!" she has repeatedly _insisted_ ), but her food is always perfectly edible. 

Presentation does need work, though. Arthur, as the most frequent consumer of her home cooked meals, rarely has anything negative to say about the taste, even if it looks so terrible they're both pretty sure it's something only hell could have concocted. Or Eames (who is only good at baking an amazing chocolate cake, but can't make any other food-related substance to save his life - not even a sandwich).

And sure, she's not as good as Arthur, with his fresh rosemary and oregano, and confectioner sugar, and how he makes everything from scratch from whatever he can find. (Ariadne will not compete with him and his spinach and fennel frittatas or his chocolate chip cookies, because they are _heavenly_.) But she's still pretty good.

Just not today.

She slouches on the couch as Arthur samples the dish. He doesn't wince (so maybe it's not completely ruined), but she's not too thrilled with eating it tonight. Maybe for lunch tomorrow. It might taste less burnt. But it still looks absolutely hideous. Ariadne is certain it's not supposed to look grey. She feels a little bad about wasting the winter savory and lemon thyme. At least the chives were spared from her failed efforts.

"Well, what do you want to order?" he asks, seeing that she's not interested in eating her disaster tonight. 

She appreciates how he doesn't always force himself to finish something that she knows is awful and he admits to, as a sign of devotion or recognition of her efforts. There's a different sort of honesty in that.

He pushes the casserole into the fridge ("Maybe I'll give it to Eames," he tells her, "He has a cold, so his taste buds are dead and he'll eat just about anything because he's sick." Ariadne likes this solution a lot.) and starts cleaning up the kitchen.

They like to try new things, so there's about twenty take-out brochures crowding the small table by the door (though the number of sushi restaurants popping up in the same area is a bit alarming). They had Chinese food last week, so she tosses that one back and takes the third one. She doesn't remember eating anything from this place and it has a good variety of offerings. And she doesn't imagine the local Thai place does casserole as part of its usual cuisine. 

They end up with chicken curry and tom yum soup with coconut milk and prawns. But they're both way too spicy for her and she's convinced that fire is coming from her mouth and wishes she had thought of pizza or a shawarma instead. She wants to blame Arthur for recommending them as she desperately swallows some plain jasmine rice and water.

Arthur just swallows a glass of tea and kisses her until the burning feeling in her mouth goes away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in my head, there is a version where [this is the reason](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0zx_SDw-EM) why Arthur knows how to make spinach and fennel frittatas.


	8. it only looks like a mess

_"who leaves their stuff around"_

 

When they move in together, it's actually Ariadne bringing all her stuff over to Arthur's place, along with all her junk. They sort everything out eventually, what to keep, what to throw away. 

Arthur isn't exactly impeccably tidy, as Ariadne learns soon enough. His place certainly is larger (which is why when they decided to live together, it seemed more sensible for her to move into his flat. Also, it has a nicer view and the heating isn't totally shot like hers), but that means the potential exists for a greater mess. He is a great deal neater than she is, so it's never been an issue for him. It's a pretty easy compromise, the fact that their apartment is both messier and cleaner than they've been used to in the past.

But at some point, whenever Arthur is away on a long trip, she has a terrible habit of just tossing everything on the couch or chairs until there's no place to sit. Ariadne is usually so engrossed in her work to notice all of everything lying around until she realizes that the space next to her drafting table has no space for her tools and that there are no clean mugs left for her to drink juice from because for some inane reason, they're in the bathroom. She gives him a sheepish look every time he comes back and finds that all the flat surfaces have become tables for papers, half-empty and half-full bowls of corn flakes (nothing molding, luckily), and her clothes. 

Oh, _god_ , her clothes. 

It'd be kind of erotic if the trail of discarded clothing led to her undressed on their bed, perhaps doing something like reading a book without any particular intention of seducing him (Arthur doesn't tell her that fantasy, mostly because it'd have to rely on her not actually trying to encourage him to join her in bed, not that it would take any effort). But it's usually because she's a slob and he ends up picking everything ( _everything_ \- from her extensive collection of scarves to her sweaters to her _underwear_ ) and dumping it into the laundry hamper.

It never takes long to put things back, but he's guilty of leaving things around too, just in a more ordered manner. A few books here... okay, a lot of books, maybe too many books. When she first came to his apartment, she admitted that she expected the record player and liked the simple elegance of the decor, but had laughed at how the only unusual thing was the slightly higher than average number of mostly old books that he's collected over the years and forgotten about.

When she moves in, the frequency of the books being scattered around increases (because her books come with her, flying in like a flock of birds and perching on almost every surface imaginable). But Ariadne is oddly protective about keeping her books in good condition ("When your textbooks cost $300, there is no way I want any pages bent") and keeps them all in one place. Arthur is the one with the horrendous habit of leaving them all over the place (for example, on the sofa, where her clothes are inhabiting), despite his low threshold before he decides it's enough and it's time to re-shelve them all. 

"Fortunately," he tells her one day, "we don't get many visitors, so there isn't any real need for anyone to sit on anything."


	9. fighting over a trivial matter

_"what is the most trivial thing they fight over"_

 

It's a good thing the way they argue over little stuff is different from how they argue over big stuff.

Big things: occupational hazards, legitimate vs illegal employment, relationship stuff. Stuff they can settle with shouting matches, becoming sullen, separately going on long walks to cool their heads, and then holding hands while sitting on the couch next to each other, upset but generally in some sort of agreement.

There's one argument that doesn't emerge early on, and it's not a deal-breaker as it is... odd.

"Point them up."

"Why? It's darker this way."

"No, it's not."

"Yeah, it is."

That argument lasts a good few hours, all because they can't agree which way to turn the Venetian blind slats because they can't seem to agree on the definition of "darker". Ariadne is completely insistent that they should overlap on the outside because she refuses to stare at a concentrated quantity of light right by the base of the window that she can't look away from no matter how she's sleeping, regardless of whether her head is closer or further from the window or if she sleeping on her side and facing the wall. She doesn't _care_ that the ceiling is darker. But Arthur doesn't like how the ceiling is lighter, even if the it's more diffuse the other way. Besides, the floor would be better illuminated at night and-

"If anyone tries to look in all they'll see is a bare ceiling," she snaps, "Wouldn't you of all people be concerned about privacy?"

"I'm pretty sure angling them your way is only good for privacy if you live in a basement. This apartment is on the third floor."

And so on (a google search and actually going outside for a compare-and-contrast included). It's completely ridiculous and there's no "let's turn them halfway" because that just means they're open and everyone can see in. They can tell it's really getting stupid because they're fighting over grabbing the rod to change the angle on the blinds and Ariadne is reaching around Arthur, who obviously has longer limbs, and despite all the touching, this is not a turn on.

Neither of them are going to invest in sleep masks because everyone knows the elastic eventually stretches out and becomes useless. Arthur only gives in because he's tired of arguing about it, but when it snows? He doesn't even bother - he flips them the other way around.

They wind up solving the problem by getting curtains and don't argue about it again.

Until they end up in a hotel with Venetian blinds.


	10. waking the other with kisses (1/2)

_Who wakes the other one up with kisses?_ (1/2)

 

It's usually the prince who wakes up the sleeping beauty.

Ariadne stares at Arthur, fast asleep on the couch. He must be exhausted, she thinks. He's usually a very light sleeper, because whenever she finds him at home after returning early from a job, he wakes up almost instantly the moment she steps into the apartment. She doesn't even know if it's from years of being on the run or from induced dreaming or a combination of both.

She takes a moment to examine his face. Ariadne doesn't see him asleep very often - he's usually awake before she is - much less in broad daylight. Seeing him asleep with the PASIV doesn't count either, in her eyes, because he still looks stressed. 

There are dark circles under his eyes, but without the crease at his brow, he looks younger, more relaxed. She wonders if he'll wake up if she touches his face...

It's a pleasant surprise when he doesn't even twitch when she brushes a rare stray strand of hair from his eyes. She strokes his cheek gently and carefully seats herself next to him, causing the sofa to dip slightly under her. He _must_ be tired, because he'd usually wake up by now. It makes her feel strangely giddy, knowing she can get away with touching Arthur like this.

And then she gets an idea. 

Leaning in, she tries not to breathe on his face. She feels a bit like giggling. Best to do it quickly, she decides.

Ariadne presses a light kiss to his jaw. There's no reaction. Feeling bolder, she continues kissing up his jawline until she reaches his mouth. Her breath hitches just a bit, but she decides it wouldn't be any harm. Her lips meet his in an innocent kiss.

When she lets it linger a bit before she pulls away, Ariadne realizes that somehow, Arthur's arm has moved around her waist and won't let her move. When she looks up, she sees his half-lidded eyes looking at her with amusement.

"Hey," he mumbles lazily. "This is nice."

"How long have you been awake?"

She tries to sound indignant and move away, but it's hard with the way he's pulling her into his lap so easily and sliding his hands into her hair and around her waist again.

"Hmmm... since you started kissing me," he murmurs. 

"Sorry."

"Oh, don't be. I think you should wake me up like that all the time," Arthur remarks. "But where do you think you're going?"

Ariadne is squirming in his arms, but mostly for the sake of it. "Well, since you're not asleep any more, I don't think I really need to be here-"

He laughs softly and pulls her back towards him, his eyes closing. "I'm going back to sleep," he hums. "Wake me up, later?"

It is nice, being curled up in his arms like this, and it's actually making her feel a little sleepy. She kisses his jaw again and closes her eyes, murmuring something along the lines of agreement.


	11. the blanket thief

_"who steals the blankets"_

 

At first, Arthur's convinced it's because she's used to sleeping alone (though she admits she had a favourite plush toy to keep her company until she was in high school and it graduated onto her bedroom shelf). And it doesn't matter if he gets a separate duvet or anything, she still manages to take them all.

Plus, the bed is a strange in-between size, wider than a twin but narrower than a full sized bed. It turns out there is only a finite number of blankets they can load onto it before it become ridiculous and it's best that they share what blankets they can put on it. So usually, Arthur's attempt to get another cover just for himself is rendered seemingly null and void simply because the bed can't possibly take another one.

"Sorry," she mumbles, in a voice heavy with sleep. But he can tell she's not apologetic at all after he tangles his limbs with hers and he notices she's got a tiny smile on her face.

When Arthur notices the only way he's going to have enough blanket is to really fight for them (she always wins), he suspects it's a ploy that she just wants him next to her while she sleeps. And with her buried at the centre of all the blankets, it takes a lot of work to find her in a pitiful attempt to pry just one away from her (he still fails) when he could just curl up next to her. 

It's easier for him to just give up and let her have her way - she's extremely generous when he does. But any other scenario? He's out of luck.

Ariadne doesn't tell him that, of course.

(It turns out he's right, about the other thing, but Ariadne isn't going to tell him _that_ either.)

"You're just another blanket to me," she says instead, wrapping herself around him. "The best one I have. Shouldn't expect me to give up my favourite."

(Of course, when he tries get up, her sleep sodden voice nonsensically mumbles "Blanket, going where? Mine, mine..." and she won't let him leave and her grip on him tightens.)

Arthur decides he doesn't mind. He can live with this.


	12. where are my fountain pens?

_"who does most of the cleaning"_

 

"Where are all my fountain pens?" she asks, when she walks into the apartment and notices he's back.

When he hears her voice, Arthur looks up from where he is sitting on the sofa with a plastic accordion folder where he has sorted out all her discarded sketches. 

And then it occurs to her that the apartment has been completely rearranged and the laundry is done (never mind that maybe their clothes will probably be scattered on the ground in a few hours for very _enjoyable_ reasons, if she gets over how ticked off she is right now), even though that's her job, damn it, and she likes doing it. Everything is meticulously _tidy_.

All her fountain pens (and all of Arthur's, because he has some really nice ones that he lets her use most of the time) _were_ on the coffee table with piles and piles of sketches on old newspaper, butcher paper, and paper bags that she was going to throw away because they were practice sketches to test the nibs. The ink bottles are also missing.

Ariadne has noticed that, oddly enough, the state of the apartment is inversely proportional to the time Arthur is away. It makes sense (aside from Arthur's general tidiness rubbing off on her) because the longer he's away, the longer she's going to have to live in a self-inflicted mess and even she has her limits. It's better to clean up regularly.

(There are no visible changes when Ariadne is away because Arthur remains consistent and thorough about cleaning duties.)

They have mutually agreed on who does what for a _reason_. Like she will vacuum (as long as Arthur moves the furniture and reaches really high spots) and he will clean the bathroom (but she can't complain when he throws out the empty shampoo bottles she's stubbornly trying to use until there is absolute nothing but air left inside them). Stuff like that. 

But really, the issue is really when Arthur returns unexpectedly early from short trips.

Ariadne isn't sure what compels him to reorganize almost every mess he sees if the mess isn't under the direct supervision of the person who said "please leave the elaborate chaotic pile alone, I swear I have a system that will let me find what I need right away, even if _you_ don't see it." He's gotten better at leaving things alone if it looks important or personal, but sometimes he sees what appears to be a fairly innocent looking pile of disorder and tidies it up. 

"We _talked_ about this," she groans. "No moving stuff that's lying around without saying anything or leaving a note or _something_. I do _not_ want to spend the next hour looking for all those drawing supplies."

If he didn't just blink at her in a completely, admittedly adorably, confused way, she'd actually be angry. 

"I'm sorry?"

And... now all she can do now is smack her forehead.

Fortunately, he at least remembers where he's moved everything.


	13. there is no hot water

_"who uses all the hot water in the morning"_

 

Arthur is away so often that he keeps forgetting that if he wants a hot shower, he either has to wait for it to replenish or he needs to beat her to it.

Ariadne sings entire songs in there (her voice isn't terrible, but her singing is rather flat, he notices), until there's no hot water left. She's too embarrassed to admit that the songs she's singing are the ones stuck in her head and singing them out in the shower is her way of getting rid of them.

("I do my best thinking in there," she mumbles one time, feeling bad again for draining the tank. Ariadne doesn't tell him what she's thinking about, because she thinks about _everything_. There's a whole world of mysteries going through her head.

_Should I try the new Earl Grey latte tomorrow at the cafe? Maybe it needs more scaffolding? Or a crossbeam? What was the line? Au premier temps de la valse/ Toute seule tu souris déjà... That was so disappointing. Why does it have to be that way? Mmmmm... Arthur-_

Clearly, all mysteries needing to be resolved.)

Eventually, Arthur gets used to the idea of cold showers and he's used to taking short ones anyway. He doesn't mind that much, that she uses all the hot water, but it'd be nice to actually use water that isn't ice cold once and awhile.

( _And once and awhile, when she knows he's ragged and tired and he's just gotten back from a really bad job and they don't want to talk about how he's gotten more scars, Ariadne will push him into the shower. The water will run, so hot it almost burns, but he knows she's doing it because she knows he needs it and she pulls him out before it gets cold._ )

Still, he has to smirk whenever she runs from the bathroom, dripping wet with nothing but a towel around her, shrieking that the water is suddenly cold.

"I've heard that cold showers are good for you. Something about keeping your skin smooth and youthful."

"Liar," she says with chattering teeth. "You're enjoying this too much." She lifts her chin defiantly. "You better find a way to warm me up quickly if I have to finish with freezing water."

Arthur gives her a long thoughtful look and his fingers loosen the towel wrapped around her. Her breath suddenly hitches.

While she doesn't regret how, she is embarrassed with his method.

( _Mostly because of how much she enjoys it._ )


	14. away from you

_"what do they do when away from each other"_

 

It's the first time since they've gotten together that he's been away so long. Three months, Ariadne counts. That's the estimate. It's not that she's pining after him, because she's not. Ariadne easily occupies her time with work and sketching the world around her and catching up on television shows that Arthur doesn't like that she's dying to watch.

But she realizes that sleep isn't coming so easily these days.

They'd skype, but no, he doesn't want anybody he doesn't trust to see her face because who knows what will happen if they do. She settles for a dirty text message or two, and irregular emails that say nothing but everything strangely enough, but that's not enough compared to seeing or hearing him.

There are other senses she can rely on until he's back.

She pulls on shirts he left in the laundry to be washed after he left to wear to sleep, so she's engulfed with the lingering scent of his cologne until there's almost nothing left and she moves onto the next shirt. Ariadne isn't even aware that she's sleeping on his side of the bed ( _wait, when did they each get a side?_ ) when she realizes her alarm clock is way too far away to just shut off by muscle memory. But it's like she can feel him here and she's having trouble sleeping anyway, so what's a few lost minutes of extra sleep?

He hasn't called entire time. She knows why. Arthur throws himself into his work while he's away, exhausts himself until he's too tired to do anything but sleep. She flushed with unexpected pleasure when he told her this, because she never thought that he'd miss her ( _he misses her_ ) so much that he would have trouble sleeping at night without her.

It's a week before Arthur returns when she realizes that her favourite scarf is missing, the cream-coloured silk with a delicate floral paisley of sepia like a Renaissance sketch. The laundry basket yields nothing (though she rejoices at the discovery that there's still one unwashed shirt of his that she can sleep in before she finally washes everything in the laundry). It must be lost, she thinks with panic and disappointment. But then she finds another one missing, an especially pretty one dappled green like a midsummer forest and woven with gold and bronze threads.

She has her suspicions about where they've gone, but waits until he's back and she's tackled him onto their bed for an enthusiastic reunion. Sure enough, when she digs through his suitcase later, she triumphantly finds the scarves hidden with his ties.

"They smelled like you and that grapefruit shampoo you like," he mumbles, embarrassed and hiding his face in her hair when she moves back into his arms. "And the patterns, I don't know. Seeing them made me think of you and it was just easier to sleep after that."

She grins and tucks herself into him. "I know. I know what you mean."

"Oh, one more thing," he says sleepily. "Did you just do the laundry yesterday? I'm missing... some shirts..."

Ariadne doesn't answer. She hasn't fallen asleep this easily in months.

 

The next time he goes away, she sprays her tackiest and most obnoxious scarves ("That one looks like a watermelon," Arthur remarks) with her perfume before slipping them in the inner pocket of one of his suits.

"Pick some uglier scarves next time," he smirks. "I'll hurry home just so I can give them back. And maybe so you can do the laundry sooner."

"Well, then, maybe you should learn not to stay away too long," she says as she kisses him.


	15. no more nicknames

_What are their nicknames for each other?_

 

"I love you, Pumpkin," she says.

"I love you, Honey Bunny."

They kiss with sardonic smiles. 

When they pull apart, Arthur loads his Glock under the diner table. Ariadne isn't too thrilled that she's supposed to be the psychopathic loose cannon (and even less so that she's armed with a Browning Hi-Power that the Japanese explosives expert gave her) and her temper is getting as short as she is. 

She hates this job. _Despises_ it. Arthur is good at staying in control, because he is a professional, but even he's beginning to lose it because he has standards and this job sort of follows some other rules altogether. There are way too many people (seven, one more than the Fischer job) and too many unknowns. And then they just couldn't get out of it.

They should have known how bad it was when they were all assigned colours for names.

"So we don't know anybody else, unless we already know them from before," the extractor had said, "And that way, we reduce the number of details than can be leaked. Capisce?"

"Can we at least pick our colours?" the chemist asked, none too thrilled with the colour (lavender blue) he had been assigned.

"No. Because there's always a fight over who gets to be black and someone ends up dead."

They are not nickname people at all. Never were. But when everyone spends their day calling each other shades of the rainbow, it's the start of a very bad joke trying to find other ways to address one another.

Ariadne started it, honestly. It was an accident that she called him "Pumpkin" and Arthur was strung so thinly that he started to laugh. He couldn't stand it, but he was starting to feel like this whole job was just a Tarantino film so he called her "Honey Bunny."

"After this job," Arthur says, "we are never calling each other these names again."

"That's upsetting, but I suppose I'll have to live with it," Ariadne snickers. They have to time this right, because they're probably going to end up dead with this particular distraction in the dream. Probably the same level as the Stein job; Ariadne did not like the details of that story at all. "But darling, what will I call you?"

"Sweetheart," he says with a smirk, "You can call me anything else you like, though my name would be nice."

"Awww... darling," Ariadne replies, climbing onto the tabletop with Arthur holding her hand so she could steady herself. The diner's projections begin to stare at them. "That's what I love about you - always so specific."

And then she raises her gun. " _Nobody move! This is a robbery! I'll fuckin' shoot you all!_ "

She's absolutely the most terrifying tiny robber ever. Arthur's secretly proud at how she can make all the projections just freeze in fear and reminds himself not to get on her bad side. Ever.

 

In any case, the job's the worst one they've been on and even though they pull it off, Arthur swears off extractions for a whole year. He does. No joke. Oddly enough, he doesn't mind all the "darlings" and "sweethearts" that Ariadne throws at him afterward.

The nicknames don't come up again until they both get seriously smashed during the first job after the whole "colour" job and they can't even think straight. There's a lot of "I love you, Pale Turquoise Flying Squirrel" and "I love you, Zucchini Bread" and make out a lot because the nicknames still sound really bad when they're drunk and this shuts them up.

"My lovely Ari," he whispers to her and strokes her messy hair when they wake up sober and with monstrous hangovers, and he thinks maybe not all nicknames are so bad if she looks at him that affectionately every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own _Pulp Fiction_ or _Reservoir Dogs_ or any of the references you may notice all over the place.


End file.
